Active Shooter at Canterlot High
by robert.smith.9400984
Summary: What if there were things the magic of friendship couldn't save you from? What if hatred were stronger - or just got there first?


The sounds of happiness were a lie. The echo in the lockers corridor transformed the babble of students chatting and laughing as they headed to class in anticipation of the morning bell into a cacophony that hurt Wallflower's brain. She watched her fellow students from where she stood, at the main doors, feeling the weight across her shoulders of what she had come here to do.

This day would be the last she ever spent at Canterlot High.

The pistol was nothing fancy, one of the cheapest on the market. The ammunition was nearly as expensive. She had only been able to afford one clip. Eight shots: she wished she had eight hundred.

Buying it had been amazingly easy. The state didn't even require background checks – not that she would've failed one, she supposed. After a nerve-racking week's waiting period, she had simply returned to the store and brought it back with her. Her parents didn't even have to know.

She unshouldered her bag, reached into it, and took hold of the weapon.

The crowd in the corridors was thinning out. Wallflower swallowed, and unobtrusively drew the gun, holding it behind her bag for concealment. She began walking. The noise in the corridor obscured the sound of the safety catch releasing.

For years she had walked alone and unnoticed in these corridors, amongst, but not a part of, the school's innumerable factions. Eco kids, jocks, amateur dramatics; she hated them all without prejudice. None had ever had room for her in their stupid cliques. As she came amongst them once more, she felt her rage perceptibly build. The lowing of the stupid, selfish herds set her teeth grinding. Animals, they were. That was what she told herself. Animals were unnecessary – a blemish, cruel and destructive, on the face of the world.

A running figure jostled her, almost knocking her down. The girl had run right into her as though she were invisible. Wallflower vaguely recognised her: the slut from the marching band, the one the boys all fawned over because she knew how to throw a stick in the air and catch it.

In a sudden spasm of anger Wallflower hurled her bag aside. Some people turned to look at her. There was no going back now.

She fired several shots down the corridor into the crowd. The recoil from the small weapon was amazing and unexpected. Most of the shots went wild, but one of them must have hit the majorette because she fell down screaming.

As yells and wails erupted, and the last of the morning rush turned into a panicked stampede, Wallflower was already in the calm place in her head, and walking on down the hall. She had an objective, and a timetable. The objective was Ground Floor Room F-2, first period Social Studies, Ms Pansy's class...

… Sunset Shimmer.

Principal Celestia came over the intercom as Wallflower approached the target. Of course: her office was just down there. She would have heard the shots clearly. The principal's voice sounded strained for once.

"Attention students and staff. Please remain calm. There is a dangerous situation developing on the first floor of the main building. Stay wherever you are and do not attempt to move around the school. Lock or barricade the doors of your classrooms if possible."

Wallflower grimaced and sprinted the rest of the distance before anyone in F-2 could carry out those instructions. As she entered, the room was still wrapped in the brittle silence that had descended in the wake of the principal's announcement, but at the sight of her – or, more accurately, the gun in her hand – screams erupted, and students began to scramble out of their seats. Wallflower fired into the ceiling, and everyone except Ms Pansy hit the deck. Wallflower pointed the gun at the teacher meaningfully, still panting from the sprint, but clear in her mind what had to be done next.

"Sit down and don't move."

Ms Pansy did so, looking about ready to faint. Wallflower knew she would press the panic button in her desk as soon as her back was turned, but didn't care. This would be over before anyone answered it.

Rapidly, Wallflower scanned the room, recognising most of the faces. Velvet Sky, Violet Blurr, Rose Heart… there were no would-be heroes here, she felt pretty sure. None of this bunch would dare to get between her and the one she had come to kill.

"Sunset Shimmer," she said, savouring the moment. All eyes turned in the direction of the flame-haired girl near the back of the class.

Everyone who had not already managed to sidle away from CHS's queen bee swiftly did so, leaving Sunset Shimmer standing quite alone – alone as Wallflower was every day. The bully's habitual sneer was not in evidence for once. Their eyes met. It was painful and sweet.

"Hey. Wait a second," said a voice from nearby, interrupting the moment. Wallflower turned.

She almost didn't recognise Pinkie Pie, who was crouching behind a desk with Rarity – another girl Wallflower didn't much care for, vain, arrogant and flighty, attention-whoring all around the school, lapping up everyone's adulation with her painted face and fake accent. Pinkie wasn't her enemy, though, Wallflower could admit. The perennially bubbly party girl was looking nothing like her usual self, her hair lank and skin grey, as if all the light and colour had drained out of her.

"Look – I can see you're angry, but this – this isn't nice," she stammered. "Just stop, okay? Just, please, don't hurt anyone."

"Sit down. Shut up," Wallflower told her, quietly, but emphatically. Pinkie obeyed, still with an expression of desperate pleading. Wallflower ignored it. She turned her attention back to her quarry, and was gratified to see Sunset blench, recoiling from the fury smouldering in her eyes.

"Wallflower-," Sunset began.

"SHUT UP!"

Sunset fell silent. Wallflower fixed the girl who had made everyone's lives a misery for what felt like forever squarely in her sights.

"I've wanted this for so long," she whispered, half to Sunset, half to herself. "You're not laughing now, are you? What's the matter, Sunset? Can't think of any new nicknames for me?"

"I'm s-,"

"SHUT UP!" Wallflower screamed again. "You – you thought you were the queen of this school. But you not... you aren't."

Wallflower cursed herself inwardly. Now that the moment she had lived out in her fantasies countless times was finally here, she couldn't think straight. The gloating speech she had rehearsed to perfection wasn't coming out. She was babbling. She began to tremble. Even now, Sunset Shimmer could reduce her to this.

There was deathly silence in the room, except for muffled sobbing coming from somewhere. Sirens were sounding in the far distance. She had to finish this. Forget the theatrics. She had the gun; she was still in control.

"Kneel down and beg. Beg me not to kill you."

Tears leaked from Sunset's eyes, though they never flickered from the barrel of the gun as she slowly went down, first onto one knee, then both.

"Please, Wallflower," she whispered. "Please don't-,"

"Louder! I want everyone to hear!"

"Please!" said Sunset more loudly, her voice breaking. "Don't kill me. I'm begging you."

"Take off your clothes."

"W-what?"

"Do it. Strip."

Emotions sloshed around Wallflower's body like boiling liquid – fear, elation, desire – and was that pity? No, it couldn't possibly be. Her hands were sweating so much that it was all she could do to keep the gun levelled at Sunset Shimmer. A strange, hot feeling at the core of her started to build as Sunset stared up at her with those lovely, cruel blue eyes brimming over, her hands starting to move oh-so-slowly to the buttons of her jacket.

"Darling, you're better than this," a voice murmured, off to the side: Rarity. Was this the first time Rarity had ever deigned to speak to her? Probably. Wallflower turned slightly to be able to see her. Rarity had stood up. Wallflower's eyes flickered between her and Sunset.

"Don't try and stop this. It's between me and her," she warned, trying to focus on Sunset Shimmer.

Wallflower heard the tap of high-heeled boots coming slowly towards her.

"Go away!" she shouted, gripping the gun tighter. "I mean it!"

The sounds stopped.

"Please, darling," came the quiet voice again, calm and soothing. "This doesn't have to happen. You know it doesn't. So let's not carry on any longer."

"Why are you defending her?" Wallflower practically sobbed. She had to get it together.

"Because she doesn't deserve to die."

"Yes. She does. She humiliated me. In front of everyone. She made me-,"

"I know, darling. I'm so sorry. I'm not excusing her. No-one would, I least of all. Remember the Spring Fling?"

After a moment, Wallflower gave a small nod.

"I have as much reason as you have to hate her. But I know this isn't the way to show it, and I think you do too."

Rarity took a deep, shaky breath, and then the slow tap of her heels resumed. When she next spoke, it was an attempt at the tone of a brisk, no-nonsense schoolmarm.

"Now, Wallflower, I'm coming over there, and I'm going to hold your gun for you, okay? I'll hold your gun for you, and we'll both go out and talk to the police when they get here. We'll go and talk to them together. Alright?"

Inchoate visions strobed in Wallflower's eyes like a nightmare: handcuffs, chains, orange clothes, cells, syringes. The shaking of her hands got more violent, and she squeezed the handgun's stock as hard as she could to keep from dropping it. It wasn't supposed to end like that; it was supposed to end with a bullet and sweet darkness, not with police and – and –

Without meaning to, she turned to face Rarity, who was right next to her now. Her always pale face was ghastly, mascara running in streaks, pupils dilated by fear. Behind her, the rest of the class was staring, their expressions mirroring hers.

"Give it to me, darling," Rarity whispered, and reached out.

Beforehand, Wallflower might have expected the moment to be drawn out, as if in slow motion. In fact, it happened too quickly for her brain to register. A blinding flash, a deafening bang – and then she found herself in the moments afterward. And it was these which seemed to last forever.

Her face and arms were wet. There was something in her left eye, hot and stinging. Somewhere there was screaming. It sounded tinny and false below the ringing in her ears. Everything was fake here, even the grief.

Not knowing what to do, she turned back to the girl who knelt before her. Sunset was staring dazedly at the spectacle, the canvas of lurid colours that hovered in Wallflower's peripheral vision; bright scarlet overlaying pure white. After a second or two, sensing Wallflower's gaze, she dragged her eyes away and met Wallflower's.

"P-please don't. Please, I – I'm doing it – look, I'm doing it-,"

Sobbing, Sunset shrugged off her jacket, letting it fall limply to the floor, and struggled with her t-shirt, dragging it over her head as fast as her shaking hands were able.

Wallflower watched as Sunset Shimmer stripped at her command, in front of everyone. But she felt no joy; just an unaccountable hollowness. It was not supposed to be like this.

At last, she turned to look at what she had done. She could not see the full extent of it, for Pinkie was kneeling by Rarity, cradling her head in her lap, stroking her hair gently. Rarity's face was in profile. The half that Wallflower could see was immaculately beautiful, like a marble sculpture, pale and still and crisp. Where her head rested, Pinkie's shirt was stained a deep, wet black.

Pinkie looked up at Wallflower, her face a twisted mask of agony. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

She was standing alone with the gun. She barely noticed the door open, and the principal's voice say some words that didn't seem to mean anything. She stared at the weapon in her hand, hard. She thought about how it had cost her the whole of her savings from last summer's holiday job. She remembered hesitating for days before buying it, wondering if it would be worth the sacrifice. Dimly, she could still hear sirens, and footsteps, and girls crying. Then she remembered the final act, as she had planned it, in those fantasies that seemed a lifetime ago. She clutched at the memory like a woman drowning.

Wallflower put the barrel in her mouth and fired. And then, mercifully, everything stopped.


End file.
